


some dumb christmas thing

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:30:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: "O, wegottatake down some of this mistletoe," Bellamy says dryly. "It's fucking ridiculous. People are gonna catch mono before they can even get to the drinks table."Octavia flaps a hand at him. "That's what Christmas is about!"He casts her an incredulous look. "Catchingmono?!"Or, the one where Bellamy needs to figure out his veryunplatonic feelings for his best friend. Turns out his sister's terrible taste in Christmas decorations might just do the trick.





	some dumb christmas thing

**Author's Note:**

> _BFF prompt: There's a Christmas party. Person A has placed mistletoe in every room of the house to get a kiss from person B but person B manages to kiss others so doesn't have to deal with the feeling of kissing the best friend he's secretly in love with._

****  
  


 

It's been twenty-three years, and Bellamy's still not sure why he ever agrees to help his sister out with anything.

 

He never seems to be able to perform any task to her satisfaction. She spends most of the time telling him he's doing it wrong. To top it all off, he never even gets so much as a _thank you_ from his obstinate sister.

 

But this is different. It's _Christmas._

 

"Okay, Lincoln is bringing the helium tank back with him," Octavia reports, thumbs flying across her phone screen as she composes a reply to her boyfriend. "So the balloons can wait another thirty minutes or so."

 

Bellamy grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, using the back of his free hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "But the rearrangement of basically all the furniture in the house couldn't?"

 

Octavia clucks disapprovingly. "We need space, Bell," she says imperiously, holding her hand out for the bottle once he's taken a couple of gulps. "In the meantime, we can get started on the lights."

 

Bellamy watches her down half the bottle, one brow raised. "You know, if you'd told me there'd be _this_ much to do for your Christmas party, I could have asked Miller and Harper to come help out."

 

"Don't be silly," Octavia sniffs. "They're my _guests._ "

 

His jaw drops. "And I'm _not_?!"

 

His sister thrusts the near-empty bottle back at him. "You'll be my guest when the party starts in about three hours' time. Until then, you're on mistletoe duty."

 

He groans. "Mistletoe? _Seriously?_ "

 

"It's either that or the fairy lights," she says with a shrug. "And I'm not tall enough to reach the ceiling even on the stepladder, so."

 

"No, I mean, you _really_ wanna put up mistletoe?" Bellamy asks, his tone skeptical. "We're not in _high school,_ O."

 

"No, but we _are_ celebrating Christmas," she returns stubbornly, levelling him with a glare. "And mistletoe is a _Christmas_ thing."

 

He scoffs. "It's a _dumb_ Christmas thing."

 

That earns him a Look with a capital 'L'. His baby sister pulls herself up to her full height, glowering at him with an aura so fiery he can practically feel the heat go up in the room. "Showing _affection_ to your loved ones is a Christmas thing. Which is why you're going to put up _every last_ sprig of mistletoe I have, and I'm not gonna hear one more word about it."

 

Bellamy grimaces. "But I—"

 

But Octavia cuts him off with a sharply raised finger. " _Not_ one more word!"

 

And that's how he ends up digging into the back of the hallway closet, searching for a box.

 

"Which one is it again!" he yells, holding aside two large swathes of some kind of overwhelmingly sparkly fabric that he's not sure why his sister even has.

 

"The blue box!" she calls back from the kitchen, where she's working on brownies and cupcakes and a bunch of other snacks.

 

He stares at the only blue box in the entire closet. "No fucking way," he mutters incredulously, pulling it down from the high shelf it's on. Frowning, he pries open the lid to peer into the box.

 

He storms into the kitchen two minutes later. "Why the _fuck_ do you have _twenty-four sprigs of mistletoe_?" he demands with no preamble.

 

"Decoration," Octavia replies, not looking up from where she's cracking what looks like an entire carton of eggs into a bowl. "Duh. And you'd better put up every single one."

 

"Twenty-four?" he asks disbelievingly, shaking the box at her. " _Twenty-four?!_ "

 

"The more the merrier," she says stubbornly.

 

"There are _five rooms_ in this apartment," he says, one hand on his hip. "You have nearly _five times_ that number of mistletoe!"

 

She rolls her eyes. "So just put them up wherever. Attach 'em to the lights, or the smoke detectors, or whatever."

 

He stares at her. "Pretty sure that's not allowed."

 

She cuts a dangerous look at him. " _I'll_ allow it. Now get to work."

 

He's only about halfway through the box by the time Lincoln gets home.

 

"Save me," he deadpans, looking down from the stepladder at his sister's boyfriend.

 

"I've got five packs of glow-in-the-dark balloons with my name on them," Lincoln says apologetically, backing slowly out of the living room. He musters up a sympathetic thumbs-up. "But it looks good, man!"

 

"No, it doesn't," Bellamy calls balefully after him.

 

"Yes, it does!" Octavia's voice yells from the kitchen. Of _course_ she has super-hearing all of a sudden. Another confirmation for his long-standing theory that his sister, like Mariah Carey, truly _does_ get more powerful the closer it gets to Christmas.

 

He sighs, and gets back to putting up the room's fifth sprig of mistletoe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Now it's looking like a party!" Octavia says approvingly, hands on her hips as she surveys the fully decorated living room, lights turned almost all the way down so that the fairy lights and ribboned wreaths and glow-in-the-dark balloons can set the mood over the sounds of a Christmas pop playlist playing from the laptop plugged into the sound system.

 

The only problem is the red-green sprigs dotted all over the room. Octavia had decreed the bedroom and bathroom off limits, leaving Bellamy only three rooms to work with. Not wanting to turn Lincoln's tiny home office into a gateway orgy, he'd decided to spread most of the mistletoe out across the living room, main hallway, and open kitchen.

 

"Now it's looking like a disaster," Bellamy says dryly. "O, we _gotta_ take down some of this mistletoe. It's fucking ridiculous. People are gonna catch mono before they can even get to the drinks table."

 

She flaps a hand at him. "That's what Christmas is about!"

 

He casts her an incredulous look. "Catching _mono_?!"

 

She rolls her eyes. "Having _fun,_ you dork." Her expression melts into something more playful, and she nudges him in the ribs with a pointy elbow. "Plus, you should thank me for doing _you_ a favour."

 

"For turning your Christmas party into an orgy, _Eyes Wide Shut-_ style?" he says, sarcastic.

 

"For giving you this many chances, dumbass," she retorts, shoving him lightly.

 

He shakes his head, stubbornly ignoring the feel of his own face flushing redder than Rudolph's nose. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

Octavia snorts. "Sure you don't," she says, flouncing out of the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, Bellamy is fully aware that he's been in love with his best friend forever, thank you very much.

 

Who wouldn't be? Clarke Griffin is smart, and strong, and sharp, and sarcastic, and funny, and beautiful, and pretty much anything and everything any sane person would ever want. Except maybe Raven. And Monty. And Jasper, and Murphy, and… okay, maybe not _any_ sane person. (Although, to be fair, he's still on the fence about whether Murphy even qualifies as a sane person.)

 

Whatever. The point is, he knows he's a hopeless wreck when it comes to his smart, funny, sexy best friend, okay? He _really_ doesn't need his little sister trying to help him out by reminding him of that.

 

But… at the same time, he knows that he needs _some_ help. (Not from Octavia though. _God_ no.)

 

He's always been able to read Clarke pretty well, which is ever so slightly more than any of the others can say for themselves. As much as she puts herself out there to help others out, she's good at closing off whenever she feels vulnerable, which makes it difficult for anyone to have an open, honest conversation with Clarke _about_ Clarke. Anyone who isn't Bellamy, that is. That's not him being full of himself, either. It's the truth, plain and simple.

 

The only time he finds himself unable to figure Clarke out is when it's about _himself._

 

She asks for his opinion the same way she asks for Raven's. She laughs at his jokes the same way she laughs at Monty's. She treats him with the same gentle affection she treats Jasper.

 

But she never really responds to Raven the same way she does to him, confessing concerns and hopes and dreams to him without hesitation. Monty doesn't really make her smile the exact same way he does either, her eyes turning soft and her entire body leaning into or towards him. She never really _lingers_ on Jasper the way she does on him either, her knee pressing into his or her fingers trailing across his arm before her hand withdraws.

 

He _tries_ not to read into it, he really does — but it turns out the whole being-in-love-with-a-person thing can really mess up how you process every little interaction with them.

 

(Who knew, right?)

 

Ultimately, the one thing he never wants to risk is his friendship with Clarke. He's not going to do anything to take it further, or put what they have now in jeopardy. The only way would be if he knew with an absolute, _unfailing_ certainty that she felt just a _fraction_ of what he feels for her.

 

But he's never going to _know_ if he doesn't _do_ anything about it.

 

And he's never going to _do_ anything if he doesn't _know,_ so he's basically worked himself into a catch-22.

 

So as much as he wants to tell Octavia to mind her own business… maybe, just _maybe_ a kiss under the mistletoe could be the perfect thing to help him figure out just how Clarke feels.

 

 _Just be cool,_ he tells himself as he's getting into his car to return to Octavia's for the party after grabbing a quick shower and change of clothes at his own apartment. There are about a hundred mistletoe traps waiting for everyone at that party. No point getting all jumpy about whether he will or won't get to kiss Clarke when it's more or less a given.

 

 _One kiss,_ he thinks nervously, _and then maybe you'll have your answer._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later, he finds himself severely regretting his decision to play it cool.

 

Two cups of mulled wine, three spiced ciders, countless helpings of Octavia's specialty mini quiches and two generous pieces of the cutesy reindeer brownies Maya brought later, he hasn't even so much as exchanged two words with Clarke.

 

She's _right there,_ too. He can _see_ her, playing darts with Roan across the room. She's definitely seen him too. They've managed to catch each other's eye several times now through the small throng of people gathered in Octavia and Lincoln's apartment, one or both of them always somehow trapped in conversation with a completely different cluster, exchanging pointed brow raises and wry smiles whenever they can.

 

It's really not like she's been deliberately dodging the multiple mistletoe sprigs, either. She's kissed at least half the people in the room by now, and that's just a pessimistic estimate. She kissed Harper, Monty, Jasper, even Lincoln's boss, Anya. She kissed Emori, much to Murphy's sullen disapproval. She kissed Raven and Miller three times, _each._

 

All those people, all those lips — and the only one she's managed to avoid is _him._

 

And, well, not to be _that guy,_ but it's downright ridiculous.

 

Truth be told, it's a little hard to refrain from reading too much into _this._ Any other day, they're practically joined at the hip. Throw in a little mistletoe, and suddenly, they can't even seem to get within two feet of each other?

 

"That's the face of Christmas spirit," Miller comments, appearing out of nowhere to bump his shoulder into Bellamy's.

 

" _You're_ the face of Christmas spirit," Bellamy retorts half-heartedly, not bothering to fix his morose expression as he shifts sideways, making room for Miller to grab himself a refill of mulled wine.

 

Miller's brow lifts in surprise. "Damn. Not even an actual comeback? You doing okay, man?"

 

Bellamy sighs, and together, they shuffle aside so Monroe and her new girlfriend can get some wine too. "Yeah, no. I'm great."

 

"FYI, that's not the tone people use when they're _actually_ feeling great," Miller says helpfully, with another light check in the shoulder. "Come on, what's gotcha down? Too many mini quiches? I told you, man. Cheese is meant for white people."

 

"My digestive tract is fine," Bellamy replies irritably. "I just—" He breaks off, catching sight of Clarke leaning in to exchange a quick peck with Luna, prompted by the sprig of mistletoe attached to the heating vent above their heads.

 

Even _Luna._ She and Luna don't even _like_ each other all that much.

 

"Oh," Miller says, drawing the word out with an annoying, all-knowing lilt. " _I_ see."

 

Bellamy clears his throat and looks away. "There's nothing to see."

 

Miller scoffs. "Yeah, no reason you're turning greener than the Grinch on Christmas Day." He pauses, head cocked. "Or is that just the mini quiches?"

 

Bellamy throws his free hand into the air. "It's not the cheese, Miller!"

 

"Okay, all right, just _checking._ Testy." Miller slides a hand into his jean pocket and whistles. "You guys really haven't kissed yet? Not even once?"

 

Bellamy exhales heavily. "Not even once." He does actually try not to sound so pathetically _sad_ about it, but it's harder than he thought.

 

Miller surveys the room, sprigs of green-leafed red berries hanging from what seems like every possible nook and cranny. "Uh. _How?_ "

 

"Just what I needed," Bellamy says, his tone dripping with dejected sarcasm. "A reminder of how blindingly incompetent I am, even with a fucking _minefield_ of mistletoe to help me out."

 

Miller nods, still scanning the room. "It really fucking _is,_ though. You know I tried to go to the bathroom earlier and ended up having to make out with Monty, like, three times?"

 

Bellamy blinks. "No one says you _have_ to—"

 

Miller shrugs. "Fine, so I took an unnecessarily complicated route to kiss my boyfriend more. Sue me for taking advantage of a fun Christmas thing."

 

"A _dumb_ Christmas thing," Bellamy mutters, half under his breath and too despondent to care.

 

Miller levels a scrutinising look at Bellamy, and then shoves his cup of mulled wine at him. "Hold this. I'll be right back."

 

Bellamy just barely manages to grab on to the cup in time, the ruby rich contents sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "What are you—"

 

" _Right_ back," Miller tosses over his shoulder, already striding away.

 

Slack-jawed, he watches as Miller walks right up to Clarke, tapping her on the shoulder before coming around her so she's forced to turn slightly to face him, ending up with her back to Bellamy. Frowning, he tries to concentrate on Miller's face instead, but to Miller's credit and Bellamy's supreme annoyance, his expression remains remarkably neutral save for the raised brow and the slight, upward quirk of his mouth. As for Clarke, all he can see is a head of blonde curls, gleaming golden under the sparkling fairy lights Octavia's draped all over the room.

 

"What the fuck," he mutters, moving a few steps sideways to attempt a look at Clarke's face.

 

Unfortunately, with his eyes firmly trained on the back of his best friend's head, he ends up crashing gently into a warm body.

 

"Whoa, sorry, man," a familiar voice says, its owner turning around.

 

Bellamy blinks, half in surprise and half still distracted by whatever's going on with Miller and Clarke across the room. "Bryan," he says, looking between Miller's ex and the man next to him in a green plaid shirt, his polite smile doing nothing to detract from the impressive cut of his jawline. "And— uh—"

 

"Oh, sorry," Bryan says with a sheepish smile, one hand on the stranger's shoulder. "Bellamy, this is Luke. My boyfriend."

 

Bellamy reaches out automatically, but then remembers that both his hands are still full with cups of mulled wine. "Oh, hey. Sorry, I would shake hands, but—"

 

"Don't worry about it," Luke says, grinning to show a row of perfectly straight, pearly teeth. "Hey, your sister throws a great party."

 

Bellamy chuckles wryly, some of the tension momentarily lifting from his shoulders. "That she does. It's the setting up of the great party that's a torture."

 

"Yeah, these decorations must have taken hours," Luke says, glancing around the room. "All the lights, and— uh, the—"

 

Bellamy shakes his head. "It's okay. You can say it. The mistletoe's too much."

 

" _Way_ too much," Bryan exclaims, the words rushing out of him like a deep breath he's been trying to hold for ages now. "I mean, it's _festive_ and all, but—"

 

"Trust me," Bellamy says emphatically. "I get it. Really."

 

Luke clears his throat. "Although, uh..." He trails off, one finger pointing upwards.

 

Craning his neck backwards, Bellamy spots the sprig of mistletoe hanging over their heads. "Oh, fuck," he says, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, guys—"

 

Bryan cuts him off with a cheery laugh. "Dude, it's okay. It's Christmas, right?"

 

Bellamy shrugs, smiling despite himself. "Yeah, okay. It's Christmas." He leans in to meet Bryan halfway, their mouths touching firmly but briefly.

 

Luke flashes him another grin, and steps in for his turn, one hand lightly wrapping around Bellamy's arm to steady them both. "Merry Christmas," he says when they break apart, with a friendly squeeze on Bellamy's arm.

 

"Yeah, you guys too," Bellamy says, suddenly feeling a lot less anxious about the party.

 

Bryan grabs Luke's hand, their fingers intertwining. "And that's our cue for more mini quiches," he says, smiling at his boyfriend and then at Bellamy. "Catch you around."

 

Bellamy nods, rustling up another smile for their benefit as they move past him.

 

"Need some help?"

 

He whips around so quickly, he nearly sloshes mulled wine all over himself.

 

"Clarke," he half shouts reflexively, before quickly regaining some grasp on his composure. He shakes his head, blinking in confusion as her words register in his brain. "I mean— what?"

 

Clarke nods at his occupied hands. "Apparently, Miller's decided he's not into fruity wine anymore, so I've come to offer some kind of assistance." She pauses meaningfully, one brow arched. "Unless you're _really_ thirsty…?"

 

"Have at it," he says, offering one of the cups to her with a ready smile. "Better you than me, anyway."

 

She flashes him a grin as she takes the wine, lifting it to her lips for a sip. "I gotta say, Octavia's really outdone herself. This is one hell of a party."

 

"Or just, you know, _hell_ ," he says dryly, looking around the room. In front of the TV, a small crowd is gathering as Jasper and Monty gear up to kick off the small Just Dance tournament, both of them actually stretching hamstrings and shaking out limbs.

 

She sniggers, watching as Raven starts taking bets. "By the way," she says, turning to him, "did you bring the DVDs?"

 

"Oh, right," he says with a small start, remembering her request to borrow his _The Office_ collection. "Stashed them in Lincoln's office, just in case O decided to try and put them up as decorations too. You want 'em now?"

 

She winces as a loud cheer erupts in the room, a high-pitched ululation from Jasper piercing the air. "Yeah, okay. Now's good."

 

It's significantly quieter by the time they get to the little home office, the rest of the apartment effectively cleared out by everyone rushing to the living room for the Just Dance battle. He leads the way in, Clarke letting the door swing back on its hinges behind her so it's not quite shut, but just enough that all the party commotion is reduced to a muffled hum and a thumping beat.

 

"Found it," Bellamy calls from the large bookcase against the wall. He turns, both of them exchanging amused looks at his unnecessarily loud volume. "Sorry," he says, dropping to his regular voice. "Been yelling over the music for about two hours now."

 

"That's what we all get when we let Raven deejay," she says with a grin, already moving to join him. "Thanks. The wi-fi guy's coming next week, but I physically _cannot_ survive without Netflix that long, so you're basically saving my life here."

 

"No problem," he says, handing the small stack of DVDs over. "Although, you know, you could always just come over if you wanted to watch Netflix. Or just mooch off my wi-fi for a few days."

 

She smiles, placing the DVDs back on the shelf so she can flick idly through them. "God, I can't inflict myself on you _again._ Not after what you did when my thermostat broke down last month."

 

"It was three days, Clarke," he says, trying not to blush like a fifteen-year-old as he remembers their brief period of cohabitation. As close as he and Clarke have gotten over the last few years, nothing has ever quite come close to those three days where they curled up on his couch late into the night with the TV on, and brushed their teeth at the same sink, and made each other breakfast like they weren't both completely used to dumping Cap'n Crunch into a bowl most mornings anyway.

 

He shakes his head, willing himself not to flush hot red right in front of her. "Seriously, it was nothing."

 

Suddenly, Clarke breaks away from his gaze. She studies the cup of mulled wine still in her hands, blonde curls falling forward so her face is half hidden from view. "Nothing as in not a huge inconvenience, or nothing as in… _nothing_?"

 

His brows knit together. "I— what?"

 

To his surprise, she's uncharacteristically silent. If there's one thing you can count on about Clarke, it's that she _always_ finds something to say.

 

He starts to think about changing the subject, or doing something else to break the weird tension that's seemed to have engulfed them both out of nowhere, but then she puts the cup of wine on the shelf, and lifts her head.

 

"I have a confession to make."

 

He frowns, but it's more out of concern than anything. "You okay?"

 

"Yes." She pauses. "No. I don't know."

 

Forcing a small laugh, he taps on the DVD cases on the shelf, trying for some levity. "Don't tell me you don't want the DVDs."

 

She touches the case right next to the one under his hand, her fingers half an inch away from his. "No, I want them. I just—" She sighs, letting her hand drop. "I've been avoiding you all night."

 

_Oh._

 

"Oh," he says, keeping his tone steady with great effort. "Uh. Why?"

 

She looks at him, her eyes locking directly on his. "Because of all the mistletoe."

 

_Oh. Well… shit._

 

He sucks in a breath, trying not to let the disappointment peek through even as it crushes his very soul. (Yeah, it's dramatic, but fuck you, he has _feelings_ .) He'd more or less suspected all throughout the party, but to _hear_ the words out loud, straight from her lips like that — he's definitely an idiot for feeling this way, but it really fucking _stings._

 

"Not because I don't want to kiss you," she says quickly, cluing him into just how much he's failing to hide his emotions. "I mean it, Bellamy. It had _nothing_ to do with you."

 

His shoulder jerks in a stiff shrug, and he swallows fiercely on the lump in his throat before stepping back to put some distance between them. "Well, it's not like you had a problem with kissing anyone else in that room, so—"

 

She grabs his arm with her free hand, not letting him take another step back.

 

"I didn't avoid you because I didn't want to kiss you," she says, a slight waver lacing her naturally husky tone. "I avoided you because I didn't know what would happen if I _did_ get to kiss you."

 

His gaze snaps up, finding hers immediately. If she _'got'_ to kiss him?!

 

Now she's the one swallowing hard like she's nervous or something — she can't _possibly_ be nervous, can she? What does she have to be nervous about?! _He's_ the hopeless, lovestruck sucker here — but the rest of his frantic musings are cut off by the small step she takes to close the distance between them, her blue eyes searching his.

 

"I didn't kiss you," she says, her voice steady despite the clench of her fingers around his arm, "because I didn't know if I would be able to stop."

 

Jesus Christ.

 

It's finally happened. His heart's finally stopped.

 

 _Must be all those mini quiches,_ he thinks hazily, not quite able to see straight through the fog in his brain.

 

Several long seconds tick by, each one heavier than the last.

 

At long last, he musters the strength to clear his throat, and take a deep breath before saying, "I need to show you something."

 

Clearly, it's not the response she's been expecting. She blinks, her grip on his arm slackening slightly. "What?"

 

Carefully, he sets his cup on the shelf next to hers, and reaches up, on the very tips of his toes as he feels along the top of the large bookcase.

 

"O definitely has a serious hoarding problem," he explains at her confused frown, his hand sliding along the edge of the flat surface. "We might need to plan some sort of intervention after this. But this _is_ her party, so I went ahead and put up _most_ of the mistletoe — all except—"

 

His fingers brush up against a light, papery thing.

 

Gently, he pulls the last sprig of mistletoe off the top of the bookcase, bringing it down in his palm and uncurling his fingers to show Clarke. "Got it."

 

She looks at the mistletoe, and then at him. "Has that been above us the whole time?"

 

He nods. "Pretty much."

 

Clarke shakes her head, her face lighting up with an affectionate grin. "Come here," she says, her hands finding their way to either side of his face to pull him down — but it's completely unnecessary. He's already bending to meet her, the corners of his mouth upturned in a smile of his own.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's a good fifteen minutes before they manage to make their way back out to the living room.

 

Miller practically pounces on them the second they step in, breathless with Just Dance exhilaration.

 

"Where have you guys been?" he demands, flapping the front of his shirt to cool off from the excitement. "You totally missed it. I _destroyed_ Reyes out there."

 

"Oh, uh—" Clarke says.

 

"We were just—" Bellamy begins.

 

Miller narrows his eyes. "What's going on? You guys are all _flushed_ and shit. Like you—" His mouth falls open, realisation dawning on him. His gaze swivels to Bellamy, and he waggles both brows suggestively. "Was it the cheese?"

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, and lets himself take Clarke's hand in his. "Yes, Miller. It was definitely the cheese." He shakes their joined hands at Miller, eliciting an ungraceful snort from Clarke. "Happy now?"

 

Miller grins gleefully. "As long as it's the cheese," he says, before practically skipping away in a beeline straight for Monty.

 

Clarke glances up at him, a brow raised. "Do I _want_ to know what that was all about?"

 

Bellamy smiles, and pulls her in closer to wrap his arm around her waist. "Just some dumb Christmas thing."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> getting into the xmas spirit [on tumblr](http://ticogirls.tumblr.com)


End file.
